


Fresh Parchment

by lq_traintracks (lumosed_quill)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Because I Can't Not, F/F, Flirting, Horny Teenagers, Mention of Pansy's tits, Sort Of, Unresolved Sexual Tension, mention of being wet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:54:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27050770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lumosed_quill/pseuds/lq_traintracks
Summary: Pansy comes back for 8th year, and all she can do is drool after Granger's arse.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Pansy Parkinson
Comments: 13
Kudos: 213





	Fresh Parchment

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt, 'fresh parchment', given to me by tackytigerfic! Thank you! :D

She’s never confessed what Amortentia smells like to her. She wouldn’t want to be cast as the swot she secretly is. (Pansy’s marks were never the problem, only her attitude.) But eighth year, Granger shows up positively reeking of everything that gets her wet: blackest ink, restricted books, fresh parchment. 

Pansy watches her pass between the desks during Potions, going to gather her ingredients, her short skirt tickling her thighs, and it’s all Pansy can do to resist falling in behind her like a lackey, like someone in thrall… to resist the desperately hormonal urge to press Granger against the cupboard, sweep her hair out of the way, and bury her nose in Granger’s neck. The whiff of booksmart is strong in her wake, and Pansy feels like a werewolf, but, like, a nerdy one.

Blaise kicks her under the table, and she realises she’s been biting her quill… that she’s rubbing her thighs together… that her nipples have gone tight.

Granger passes by again, and her eyes lift this time, finding Pansy’s gaze already riveted on her every move. Pansy expects a frown but instead gets the smallest flick of a smile, like a spell cast in her direction. Granger slips a scrap of parchment onto the edge of Pansy’s desk. Pansy shoots Blaise a look, but he’s already copying down their assignment. The note is brief, unremarkable: 

_Study group. Tonight after dinner. Northeast corner of the library. Bring a quill. G._

When she turns to look, Granger’s sat at her desk, book open, eyes downcast. There’s a tinge of heat on her cheeks, though, barely there, or a figment of Pansy’s horny imagination. She’d signed it ‘G’, which is odd. Only Pansy calls her Granger. Well, and Draco, though even he has switched to ‘Hermione’ more often than not. (A bid for Potter’s approval, no doubt.) Pansy, absently running her thumb over the one letter, watches as Granger’s legs, beneath her table, slowly uncross at the knee and then, just as leisurely, recross. And just after, Granger blinks, and looks up, looks directly at her, and Pansy suffers a minor health event: the spasm of her lungs resulting in a tiny gasp, the uncouth hammering of her heart… the drench of her knickers.

Fevered, so knocked off guard she might as well be on the floor, Pansy turns back to the front of the room. 

“Alright?” Blaise asks.

But Pansy can only nod. Speech is more than should be asked of her at the moment. Closing her eyes on the dizzying tilt of the room, she lifts the parchment to her nose, and inhales.


End file.
